“Everything okay?”
She doesn’t look up at me, but I can tell she’s holding the pregnancy test in her hands. I don’t remember how long that specific one said it was going to take to show the results, but as Gabi slowly looks up at me, her face as white as the tub she’s sitting on, I know the answer. But I still need to hear the words right now. “Is it?”
She nods. “We’re having a baby.”
A mixture of excitement, panic, worry, and about fifteen-thousand other emotions run through me in a nano second. But prevailing through all of that noise is the words from Asher earlier tonight:
Be there for her.
“Come here,” I say, sitting on the toilet and reaching out for her, bringing her onto my lap. She doesn’t fight me, test still in hand, as she sits on me, wrapping her arms around my waist as I pull her in tight.
“I’ve got you,” I say, doing my best to sooth her worries. Except at this moment, and unlike other times she and I have been like this, I’m not sure if my words are enough.
CHAPTER 20
GABI
“Gabi dear? Can you grab me a scone to go? I’m taking it to my boyfriend.”
I raise an eyebrow to Phyllis. I know I’ve been out of it the past few days, but I feel like I should’ve known this. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”
“You’re not the only one around here who can bag a youngin’,” she says. “John is a ripe seventy-five and he can still drive. Hottest guy in the home.”
“She stalked him for months,” Kitty adds. “He finally gave in last week.”
“And I’m just finding out about it?” I say as I deliver the to-go pastry.
“We’ve barely seen you,” Phyllis says in a semi-chiding way. “Between how busy you are now, and you taking off early the last few days, I feel like we haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, truly feeling guilty. “The last few days have been a lot. I needed some time to sort some things out.”
If that’s not the understatement of the century, I don’t know what is. Because “sorting some things out” really means buying pre-natal vitamins, crying a lot, freaking the fuck out, and throwing up.
So much throwing up. Whoever coined the term “morning sickness” had to be a fucking man. Because no way a woman gave a title to something that isthatmisleading.
I feel like it’s all I do. From the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep, I’m battling so much nausea I can barely get out of bed. Every once in a while in the middle of the day I’ll think, “Wow, I’m done.”
Wrong. Five seconds later, I’m making a beeline to the bathroom and thanking the architectural heavens I have a bathroom in the back so I’m not throwing up in the customer restroom. Because if Phyllis and Kitty were to have seen me ten minutes ago, they’d be asking questions. And I wouldn’t put it past them to figure me out before I’m ready to say the words “I’m pregnant” out loud.
Which I haven’t yet. To anyone.
“Are you feeling okay?” Kitty asks. “You look pale.”
Damn, she’s good…
“I’m fine.” I wave her off, making sure to also turn around so she can’t analyze my sickly appearance anymore. “Do you want a bear claw for the road before I close up?”
“I’m good,” she says. “Plus, I only saw one left. Save it for that hunk of a man of yours.”
“You mean the man we haven’t seen this week?” Phyllis adds. “Is everything okay with you two?”
“Yes. Fine. We’re fine,” I assert, though probably a little too quickly.
“That doesn’t sound fine,” Kitty says. “You two just started dating. The honeymoon shouldn’t be over yet.”
“She’s right,” Phyllis adds. “You’re still in prime bang like rabbits time.”
Oh for fuck’s sake…
